


Mariage d'Amour

by Kangoo



Category: Neko no Ongaeshi | The Cat Returns
Genre: Baron dancing right into Lune's heart, Courtship, Gay Cats, M/M, Waltzing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:40:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23270341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangoo/pseuds/Kangoo
Summary: Countless suitors come to Prince Lune, hoping for his hand. this one is different.
Relationships: Baron Humbert von Gikkingen/Lune (Neko no Ongaeshi)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45





	Mariage d'Amour

**Author's Note:**

> gay cats! who would have thought.
> 
> title is from Spring Waltz/Mariage d'Amour, a piece by Paul de Senneville, which I had on repeat while writing this whole thing

The King of the Cat Kingdom wants one thing above all else: his son’s happiness. Unfortunately, the old cat has decided that, to be happy, Lune needs to be married — or, at the very least, either courting or being courted by another cat.

“Father,” his son says, long-suffering. “I’ll only marry for love. We’ve already discussed this.”

The King grins, leaning precariously off his throne to look his son in the eyes. “But how can you fall in love if you never meet anyone new?”

Lune wants to say, _I meet loads of new people_ , but by that he would mean his people, his soldiers, the castle’s servants. Nothing his father would consider marriage candidates. He also wants to say, _that’s the whole point_. He doesn’t particularly want to get married. He’s young, with many things to do to prove himself still. He cares about his troops more than romance at the moment, and that might change in the future, but right now he’s content.

Of course, his father doesn’t care what he has to say about it. He loves Lune. That doesn’t mean he listens to him. So, the King invites the whole kingdom to send suitors to the court, in the hope that one may strike the prince’s fancy. 

His life has been a nightmare ever since.

He spends his day sitting on his father’s throne, which would be a great honor if only it wasn’t so he could welcome suitors one after the other and listen to their sales pitch.

There are cats from all over the kingdom, of any kind and colors. Some are clearly only in it for the royal titles; a few came for the sake of saying they were here; many are painfully earnest, hoping that he’ll give them more than a spare glance. A… not insignificant amount of them are very openly attracted to him, which is sometimes flattering and sometimes deeply uncomfortable. He’s not prone to unreasonable rage the way his father is, but it’s still a struggle to keep himself from getting a few overly enthusiastic suitors thrown through the windows. One of them actually tried to crawl into his lap, and he feels his fur stand on end at the memory.

Long days pass with him trying his best to stay awake as suitors recite poetry to him, offer him gifts, showcase their talents and promise to treasure and cherish him forever, all in an effort to stand out from the rest. All fruitless attempts, as he only slips further into deadly boredom and uneasiness at each cat standing before him. He feels both like a precious treasure to be won over and a tasty piece of meat to be bought. Neither is comforting.

The constant chattering and the shrill background music is starting to give him a headache. He closes his eyes for a moment and rubs his forehead, wishing that he were somewhere else. Somewhere quiet, where people wouldn’t come to bother him…

He frowns, whiskers twitching. He might have daydreamed for a second too long: silence has fallen over the room, and while it’s a blessing, he can’t let them see any sign of weakness from him. He is their crown prince. He can’t just get a stress migraine in the middle of the day.

A sigh, one last indulgence he allows himself, and he opens his eyes again. But the crowd is not staring at them tired prince as he expected them to, something that brings him more relief than it has any right to. Instead, they’re all turned towards the doors, silent in that very specific way that precedes a storm of gossip. What they’re looking at he can’t tell: even from the vantage point the throne offers, there’s still too many cats between him and the other end of the room.

A rhythmic sound rises above the silent crowd — heeled boots clicking over the tiles, he realizes. The crowd parts in its path, and soon enough the stranger that shushed the crowd so efficiently is revealed to Lune. 

That feat alone would easily have endeared him to the prince, but he finds himself curious for a totally different reason. Whereas most suitors come here dressed to the nine, this one — he supposes it is a suitor — has donned an entirely dark attire, with a wide-brimmed hat that hides his face. Far from making him look ridiculous, it gives him a distinguished air that Lune immediately finds… intriguing, which is a first when it comes to this damned spectacle.

One of his guards goes for her sword at his approach, but Lune stops her with a raised paw. He wants to hear what this cat has to say.

The stranger lifts his head, revealing a silver mask further covering his features and warm ginger fur. His voice, when he finally speaks up, is calm and smooth, the same way he lifts his gloved paw to offer it to Lune.

“May I have this dance?”

In the moment it takes for Lune to hesitate, the band at the edge of the room has resumed playing. But the peppy music from before has been replaced by the first measures of a soft waltz, and Lune… lets himself be convinced.

He takes the stranger’s paw and steps down the throne. It’s a slight surprise to find that the offer is not only for show: the other cat actually helps him down, bearing his weight easily the way a true gentleman would have. 

A true gentleman might be what he’s dealing with, he realizes as the stranger leads him a few steps forward into the space that opened itself in the middle of the room, the rest of the crowd watching from the sides while chattering in hushed whispers. He draws Lune in without insistence but the prince still feels as if he’s being tugged closer by invisible strings, putting his paw on the stranger’s shoulder almost out of reflex than conscious thought and shivering as the other cat rests his against Lune’s back. 

Then, slowly, they sink into a waltz. Lune follows his lead — he was taught how to dance, but he never managed it with quite the same ease as the other cat, who moves as if there’s nothing more natural in the world than this dance. His red-lined cape flares in their wake, creating an elegant arc when they spin. Despite the flashy display, Lune can’t look away from the stranger’s face. He tilts his head down slightly to meet Lune’s eyes with his own, and they flash bright emerald green.

Lune is so taken aback by the sight — for reasons he can’t make a sense of — that he trips on his own paws. He clutches the stranger’s shoulder, already expecting the two of them to go sprawling on the floor—

Instead, he smoothly lowers his hand to bear more of Lune’s weight and dips him, passing off his clumsiness for something deliberate. They stay like this only for a second but it feels like hours to Lune, heart beating a staccato rhythm in his chest as he gapes at the other cat. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips, the faintest twitch to his whisker, that suggests he’s perfectly aware of Lune’s flustered state, though he’s perfectly unruffled himself. Then he lifts Lune to his feet again and leads him back into a waltz for the last few movements of the song.

The music fades, and the two dancers find themselves standing still in the middle of the improvised ballroom. The stranger only holds on for an instant, long enough that a second more would have been improper, but his touch trails off over Lune’s skin as if he’s only letting go begrudgingly, etiquette overriding his own desire. He takes a step back, back military straight, and doesn’t say anything.

Lune feels his body tingle where the other cat has touched him, a warmth that suffuses through his skin and down to his blood, making a pleased blush rise to his face. Lune who speaks up instead. He’s proud to find his voice level despite the blush he can feel warm his face.

“Who are you?” He asks, softly, as if not to break the spell.

The stranger thumbs off his mask, then takes off his hat and leans into an elegant bow, finally revealing his face to the crowd. When he rises, his eyes swipe over the tittering crowd quickly before once again settling on Lune.

“I am Baron Humbert von Gikkingen. I’ve come to ask for the honor to court you, if you will let me.”

This is the first time anyone has worded a proposal as a choice for him, rather than an offer from them. It’s so unusual Lune… Doesn’t know what to say. It’s not a commitment. He can put an end to a courtship at any moment. It’s a _way out_. And he doesn’t know how to accept it. Hours of etiquette lessons, and he forgot how to say _yes_ to a courtship.

Baron is patient despite his floundering, watching him intently as he thinks this through. 

“I accept,” he finally says, voice low but sure. Then, louder, to make sure everyone in the room hears, he repeats, “I accept your courtship.”

A sigh of disappointment runs through the room, but he hardly pays any mind to it at all when the Baron smiles like this, quiet and satisfied. He steps back into Lune’s space now that he knows he has the authorization to do so, and brings his mouth close to Lune’s ear, warm breath making it flutter slightly.

“Then, until we meet again, Prince Lune,” he whispers, followed by a quiet huff of laughter. “Hopefully with less of a crowd to gawk at us next time.”

Then he’s off, turning on his heels and striding through the crowd without a single look back. He dons his hat again just as he steps over the threshold of the room and seems to disappear into the shadows of the corridors, gone as quickly as he appeared.

Lune watches him go with a kind of stunned wonder. He keeps his hold tight around the mask Baron slipped in his paw — a promise, he knows, of a return.

Maybe there’s a case to be made for romance, after all. It does seem to make life more interesting.


End file.
